The Camera Only Sees the Surface
by Loca Bambina
Summary: Craig hates Cartman, Cartman hates Craig, and everyone loves Clyde... except himself. Features insecurities, damaged reputations, and film director!Craig. CraigClyde, ClydeCartman, Craig's POV.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ohgosh, it's been forever since I've written anything. I'm sorry if this is absolutely horrible! The idea's been floating around in my mind for quite a while, but due to writer's block and a general lack of motivation (thank you, summer), it's taken me forever to actually _write_ it. I'm kind of looking forward to writing more of this one, though. I actually know where it's going, so hopefully it won't be as terrible as usual!

Dedicated to my good buddy **Cissa DeLancome**, who loves Cartman/Clyde and Craig/Clyde just as much as I do, if not more. This brings the total of Cartman/Clydes up to... 10? (we'll beat Style someday, just watch!)

Mmm. This will deal quite a bit with self-image and sexuality and unrequited love, so keep an eye out for possible wangst! Otherwise, there'll be some language and, of course, slash - but hopefully you've come to expect that from the South Park fandom.

Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated.

disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt and Trey.

* * *

_Chapter 1_

Craig sat with his feet up on the seat in front of him, tapping his fingers on the empty spot to his right. His navy-black backpack rested on the floor, slightly open, revealing a glimpse of crumpled biology papers and what could have been an English essay, but Craig didn't care. Who gave a shit about homework, anyway?

He gave the back of the seat a kick just for the hell of it. Pip turned around and asked Craig if he would be ever so kind as to refrain from such activity, so Craig gave him the finger. He would've added a swear word, too, but just then Clyde stepped on the bus, and Craig focused his attention on waving his friend over.

Pip sighed and turned back around, and before long Craig could hear his annoying French-British-whatever accent floating back over the seat. He rolled his eyes and whipped out his phone, stabbed at a couple of keys, and shoved it back in his pocket. Moments later, the sound of Pip's ringtone - some lame instrumental thing - filled the air.

Pip turned around again, waving his cell phone, just as Clyde walked up. "Craig, I am _not_ a 'fucking French fairy'!" Several kids around them laughed. "I'm not even French!"

"What_ever_," Craig said, putting his feet back up on the seat and turning to the chubby brunet. "Hey, man."

"Hey," nodded Clyde, shooting Pip an odd glance. He slid into the open seat, shrugging off his orange backpack and setting it on the floor in front of them. "So… are you coming? I was going to ask you at lunch but I didn't want the others feeling left out, you know-"

"Coming where?"

"My house," Clyde said, digging around in his backpack. "Didn't you get my email?"

"Email's for faggots."

Clyde sighed.

"But yeah, sure, I'll come. Now?"

"Yep." Clyde pulled out his chipped white iPod and snapped in the headphones. "Pool's fixed. Hopefully for good this time," he added.

"I don't have my swimsuit."

"Um… you can… borrow one of mine? Dunno." Clyde shrugged and closed his eyes, his head bobbing slightly to what was probably some weird Broadway shit. Craig scowled and turned away, leaning his head against the window as the bus began to move. Clyde really wasn't the best seat partner – once his headphones were in, there was no waking him from his trance.

He focused on the seat in front of him again, where Pip and Butters were hunched over, whispering. Craig thought about giving them another good kick, but reconsidered. Clyde liked Butters – he liked almost everybody - and Craig didn't want to seem mean, not in front of his best friend.

_Best friend_. What a stupid, girly term. What a stupid, girly _concept_ – picking one friend to be your favorite, your superlative, and leaving all the other friends in the dust. As a kid, Craig had prided himself on liking all his friends equally – sure, he only had a few, but they were all good friends, they were all close. But then, somewhere between seventh and eighth grade, something had shifted and all of a sudden Craig had found himself as a guy with a best friend. He and Clyde weren't as close as Stan and Kyle, admittedly, but still. It was different, _strange_ even, having someone he could talk to and trust, someone who knew things about him that no one else could begin to imagine.

He ran his tongue over his braces – only three more weeks, then they'd be off – and reached down into his open backpack for his sketchpad. Craig liked art. Not lame art, like drawing or painting or whatever, but the cool hardcore stuff – photography, videography, things like that. The sketchpad, a gift from Kenny for his last birthday, was his plotting space. It was pretty damn nice, too, and Craig had no clue how the hell Kenny'd been able to find the money, but it didn't really matter. Maybe he'd jacked it. Whatever.

Craig dug around for a pencil, came up empty, and reached into Clyde's backpack instead. It was messier than his – if that was possible. He felt around at the bottom, pushing aside handfuls and handfuls of candy wrappers, finally found what he was looking for, and began to sketch.

His latest project was a short film about a high school student who falls for his best friend – who's also a guy. It was for an assignment for film class; they had to explore a stereotype or minority in order to promote acceptance and understanding or some crap like that. Kyle was doing a documentary on Jewish customs, Stan a study on African-American culture (starring none other than Token, of course) and Craig was doing his… thing. His _gay_ thing, as Cartman liked to point out sixty times a day, but whatever. It wasn't as if Craig was gay, anyway – he just happened to appreciate all types of people for who they were.

No, really.

…ah, screw it. The truth was he wasn't really sure, but no one knew that, not even Clyde. It was one of the few secrets Craig kept from his best friend, and it was essential that Clyde not find out.

Like, really essential.

He shook his head and drew a couple more panels, filling them quickly with stick figures. They were faceless – Craig still didn't have a cast. He could probably talk Clyde into a part (it wouldn't be hard; Clyde was such a pussy), but who would star opposite him? Kenny? Tweek? He'd need to find someone who worked well with Clyde, who had chemistry – well, as much chemistry as two straight guys could possibly have. And that was going to be hard.

Craig worked out the script for the next fifteen minutes, humming softly to himself, until the bus pulled up to the first stop, jerking as it slowed down. He stood up.

"Nn," murmured Clyde, his eyes still closed. "Not yet."

"But this is my- oh, yeah." Craig sat back down. "Next stop, right." At least Pip and Butters were getting off here. One less annoyance, one more footrest.

He flipped the empty seat off anyway.

Five more minutes to go.

* * *

Clyde possessed the amazing magical ability of knowing when the bus was rounding his corner without even opening his eyes. 'Course, that wasn't going to get him too far in life, but at least it was a talent, and Clyde didn't have too many of those.

Craig watched his friend tugged the headphones from his ears and, taking this as a sign that it was almost time to get off, shoved his sketchpad back into his backpack. Clyde's pencil fell to the floor and rolled away.

Whatever.

He stood up, ignoring the **REMAIN SEATED WHEN VEHICLE IS IN MOTION** sign plastered at the front of the bus, and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"What're you doing?" asked Clyde, his eyes wide with the usual worry. "The vehicle's still in motion."

The bus stopped.

"…and now it's not," Craig muttered, pulling Clyde up from the seat. "C'mon, let's go." They stepped out into the aisle, careful not to trip over carefully placed feet – Cartman, a grinning Kenny, Trent. _It's a wonder no one's died yet,_ Craig thought. Ever since Tweek had almost broken his arm on the bus two months before, the trips home had been growing steadily more chaotic.

Then again, so had Craig's life.

"Want a drink? Snack? Whatever?" Clyde asked as they walked up the path to his house – conveniently located three doors down from the bus stop. "We've got leftover pizza, nachos, ice cream, cookies, I think probably some pie but I'm not sure-"

"Vanilla Diet Coke?"

"You bet," Clyde grinned. It was Craig's all-time favorite, and the Donovans always kept a couple cans in the fridge just in case. "To eat?" He pulled out a can and tossed it to Craig, who caught it with one hand and sat down.

"Not hungry." Craig popped open the lid, snapped the top off, and flicked it across the table. "Thanks," he added.

"Suit yourself," Clyde shrugged, opening the freezer and pulling out a carton of ice cream. "Mmm, Cherry Chocolate Chunk."

Craig looked up from the table and shook his head. "Don't know how you can stand that stuff, man. Chocolate's so gross."

"Chocolate's incredible," Clyde shot back. "And that drink of yours doesn't taste so great, either."

"You just hate it 'cause it's sugar-free." Craig took another long sip and wiped his mouth with the heel of his palm. It was kind of true. Clyde loved sugar almost as much as Cartman did, possibly more, and had a really hard time staying away from it. He and Tweek were similar in that way, giving into their addictions so easily; Token and Craig had much more self-control.

"Vanilla and Coke should never be mixed. Period." Clyde grabbed his bowl and sat down across the table. "So. Up for a swim?"

"Uh… yeah. Can I ask you something first?"

"What?" The brunet swallowed his spoonful of ice cream. "It's not about that song Bebe made up, right? Because I swear I had nothing to do with that-"

"Nah." Craig bit his lip. "It's about… about my project for film class?"

"Mhmm?" Clyde took another bite.

"Would you, uh, be willing to star in it?"

Clyde, looking uneasy, tugged at his shirt. "Dude, you know how I feel about cameras-"

"Pleeeeeeease?"

"I-" Clyde sighed. "I guess so. But what- what do I have to do?"

_The hard part_. Craig gulped. Clyde had given in easily to the first request, but this would be considerably tougher. "Nothing… nothing too bad. I mean, you know how it's about, like, stereotypes and stuff?" The other boy nodded. "Well, I'm, like, doing my film on… on ga- on homosexuals, and it'sreallynotthatbadIprom-"

"Woah. Woah, woah, woah." Clyde put his spoon down and looked Craig in the eyes, something he rarely was able to do. "Dude. I put up with that weird dress-up thing of yours-"

"That was _cosplay_, it wasn't weird-"

"-and the movie about my _foot_-"

"It was an abstract!"

"-and let's not forget that time I had to interview those creepy sushi guys-"

"But they gave you free sushi, dude!"

"-and there's no way in hell I'm playing a gay guy. Find someone else." Clyde crossed his arms. "How come I always have to be in these things, anyway?"

"'Cause you're my best friend?" Craig tried.

"I'm not being gay. Not even for you." Clyde shook his head. "I- I mean, I'm not being gay for your _movie!_ C'mon, can't you find anyone else?"

Craig could sense his friend cracking. "I trust you, dude. Please?"

"No."

"Come onnnn."

"_No!_"

Craig pouted.

"Don't do that."

Craig pushed his lower lip out farther and tried to force his eyes into some kind of puppy-dog expression, though he probably looked really, really stupid. Clyde sighed.

"Fuck. You know what, fine. I'll do it. But this is the _last time_, I'm seriously." He blushed. "I mean, I'm serious."

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you, man!" Craig grinned. This was good. Very good. "Hey, you can pick your co-star if you want – you know, if you think it'll be less awkward, we can do Tweek or Jimmy or-"

"You want me to _pick_ who I'm supposed to have a fag-crush on?" Clyde asked incredulously, tilting back his bowl and drinking the melted ice cream. "Nuh-uh. That's gay."

"That's the poi… you know what, never mind. I'll pick then. I don't think there's that many guys left without a part, though. We'll have to see in class tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah." Clyde rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, let's just go over to the pool now, 'kay?" He stood up and walked over to the counter, dumping his empty bowl and spoon in the sink. "You need a bathing suit, right?"

"…yeah." Craig followed his friend out of the kitchen and down the hallway to his room. It wasn't that big, but it was a lot larger than his own, and it was filled with crap. Clyde cleaned his room – what, every four years or so?

They stepped over dirty jeans and old _Playboys_ to the dresser. Clyde pulled open one of the drawers and began rummaging through it. "Mmm… here's one." He tossed Craig a bright green suit with yellow stripes, then pulled out a navy one for himself. "I'll change in the bathroom, okay?"

Craig nodded, waited for the door to shut, and then slipped out of his own pants. Clyde had always been really weird about changing in front of other people – but then, so had Tweek. Craig and Token, who didn't really give a crap, always laughed about it at sleepovers. "It's not like we're gay or anything," Token would say, and Craig would nod.

…oh God, he hoped he wasn't gay. Screw tolerance – being gay would mean no more laidback sleepovers, no more throwing the word around as an insult. It wasn't being laughed at that he was afraid of - Craig was tough enough to take shit like that – but the awkwardness… and the fact that the guy he thought he might like was completely straight.

NOT that he liked anyone in particular; he was just thinking hypothetically.

"Craig? Dude, you changed?" Clyde called out from the bathroom. Craig shook his head and hurriedly climbed into the lime-green trunks. They were a little big, but that didn't matter.

"Yeah, I'm good." He hiked up the swimsuit, which was slipping past his hips. Okay, maybe it did matter.

There was a rustle of fabric, and then Clyde stepped out of the bathroom, clad in the dark blue bathing suit and his usual red t-shirt. "Kay."

"What's with the shirt?" Craig asked, but Clyde said nothing, just led the way down the hall and into the backyard, where the pool glistened in the afternoon sunlight. It was the only time of day in South Park that the weather was remotely warm, but Clyde's pool always felt good anyway. He tossed his hat on a chair and dove straight in, quickly pulling the stupid bathing suit back up before it could slip all the way off. Clyde didn't need to see his ass. "You coming? The water's incredible." Craig did two quick backflips underwater and popped back up.

"I- I think I'm gonna sit this one out." Clyde sat down on the concrete. "I don't feel that great." He wiped some pink ice cream goo off his cheek with his shirt sleeve. "You swim. You're good at it."

"Is that the problem?" Craig swam up to the edge of the pool and leaned his chin on the ground. It was true – he _was_ a pretty decent swimmer. "You think I'll laugh at you 'cause I'm a better swimmer? Come _on_, dude."

"That's not it." Clyde shook his head. "I just don't really want to swim right now."

"But I thought that was the whole fucking point of me coming over!"

"Yeah. You swim. I changed my mind." It was obvious something was bothering him – he kept pulling at his shirt and looking at the ground. Craig hoisted himself out of the water, careful not to let the shorts fall off, and sat down next to his best friend. "What're you doing?" Clyde crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's no fun swimming alone," Craig shrugged. "So either you get in the pool with me or we both sit here like losers."

"Dude. Just swim."

"Not unless you do, my little PMSing friend." _Shit, that sounded really gay._ Craig gave himself the mental finger.

"I'm not PMSing. Get in the fucking pool."

"Not- unless- you do!" In a moment of what seemed like genius but was probably closer to downright stupidity, Craig grabbed hold of Clyde's wrist, unlaced it from its locked position, forced him headfirst into the pool, and then jumped in himself.

Clyde emerged quickly, half-choking on a mouthful of water. "Asshole. You got my shirt all wet," he whined, yanking the sopping shirt over his head and slapping it on the pavement.

"Shouldn'ta worn it, then." Craig laughed and shook out his dark hair, flicking beads of water at Clyde's face. "Hey. Last one to the shallow end buys pizza!" And before Clyde could say "You're on," he'd kicked off from the wall and was halfway down the pool.

* * *

The next day at school, Craig had a ridiculously hard time keeping his eyes open. He and Clyde had stayed up until four playing Super Smash Bros (which Craig won every single time), and, as the bus left at seven-thirty, had gotten almost no sleep – and, of course, no homework done at all. Not that that mattered.

The only remotely interesting period was Film, anyway, and that was largely due to the fact that most of his friends were in the class. That, and the teacher was really cool. Most of Craig's other teachers were total bitches.

He and Clyde slid into one of the long tables at the back of the room and promptly laid their heads down on the cool wood. Clyde closed his eyes.

"So… tired."

"Tired of me pwning your ass?"

"You were using Marth. Not fair."

"Not my fault you chose Peach," Craig shrugged.

"Dude, she's the best. Her boobs?"

"She's a _video game character_, retard!"

"So?"

Craig clenched his eyes shut and then struggled to wrench them back open; they felt like they were on fire. "Whatever." He turned towards the front of the room.

"So, guys, there are three weeks left to get filming," Mr. Olsson was saying, but Craig could barely comprehend him through the obnoxious ringing he'd had in his ears all morning. "I trust you all have some sort of role in a movie? Director, filmer, actor, yeah?"

"I don't!" called Butters from the lone desk in the corner. "I don't, sir!"

"Does anyone need an extra person?" Mr. Olsson asked. "Anyone?" Craig moved to raise his hand. Clyde, apparently more awake now, pulled it back down.

"What the hell, dude, we need another person!"

"I'm _not_ pretending to be gay for Butters," Clyde hissed.

"There aren't that many more people left!" Craig shot back as Olsson assigned Butters to Wendy's all-girl group, who giggled but looked okay with the addition.

"Aaaanyone else?" Olsson called. "Anyone else need a part? Tweek?"

"Kenny and I are- gah!- making our own movie," Tweek called back. "We- nnh- have enough people." Craig clenched his fists.

"Clyde, who the hell are we supposed to have star in _our_ movie?"

Clyde glanced over to the other side of the room and shrugged. "Jimmy?"

"He's working with Stan," Craig muttered. "I can't believe this. I don't think there's anyone left-"

"Does _anyone_ else need a part? Eric? Eric, you don't have a part, do you?"

_You've got to be kidding me_, Craig thought. _No._

"Eric, why don't we find you a group? How about… how about…" Clyde's hand shot up in the air and Olsson clapped his hands. "Clyde and Craig's group! Perfect!"

_Shit._

"Oh, the fag group! Hooray!" Cartman rolled his eyes and squished himself into the seat next to Clyde. "How's it _going_, Craig? I'm _so_ excited to work on this _totally_ awesome movie with you. In fact, I'm really, _really_ happy. Hey, you know what? I know another word for happy! _Gay._ You could say this film gives me a _gay_ feeling inside, you know?"

Craig flipped him off with both hands.

"Sorry," murmured Clyde before turning away. "He was the only one left."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: ...epic, epic fail.

* * *

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Craig complained, slipping one arm out of his backpack and sliding down to the other end of the backseat. "It's gonna be fucking _torture_."

"Only if you let him get to you." Token said in his slow, deep, voice. He snapped his seatbelt in and slammed the car door, signaling the driver to leave. "Seriously, man, just ignore him. It's not that hard."

"For you," Craig muttered, but Token didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he leaned to his left and reached into the pocket of his skintight dark-wash jeans for his silver EnV, which was emitting an obnoxious buzzing noise. "What?"

"It's Tweek," Token mouthed, then held the phone to his ear. "What, dude?" He paused. "Today, right? Yeah. Why?" He rolled his eyes and smirked at Craig. "No, I didn't forget. It's only three o'clock, dude. I'll see you at eight. Kay. Bye- _yes,_ Craig is coming too. Kay. See you then. Bye." Token pressed the off button and shook his head, tossing the phone onto the seat in between the two of them. "Tonight's Harbucks night."

"Yeah, I know." Craig leaned his head back against the dark leather cushion.

"Tweek wanted to make sure I didn't forget." Token laughed. "Just because I left my shoe untied one day three weeks ago, he thinks I have, like, Alzheimer's or something. Kid blows everything out of proportion."

"Yeah." The seat was ten times more comfortable than Craig's own mattress, which was either just incredibly unfair or proof that car manufacturers were smarter than they were given credit for. Or both.

Token glanced over at Craig but didn't say anything. This was one of the major differences between him and Clyde – Clyde would've just started babbling to fill the awkward silence. Token, on the other hand, wasn't that talkative of a guy. Usually Craig preferred Clyde's background noise, but today he decided it was kind of nice being able to think for once, especially since there was so much on his mind. He had two days to write the script. Two days, and Cartman would spend the whole time moaning about how _gay_ everything was. The film was gay, the world was gay, and Craig – Craig was the gayest of all, which didn't even make any _sense._ It wouldn't have bothered him that much – well, compared to the other crap Cartman threw his way – if Clyde hadn't laughed.

Granted, Clyde was a follower; it was his nature. But… something about the way he'd gone along with everything Cartman had said that afternoon bugged him. It was like he hadn't even hesitated, hadn't even side-glanced at Craig to make sure it was okay to laugh along like he usually did. It wasn't like _Craig_ laughed when people teased Clyde, either, and people teased Clyde a lot. So why couldn't his best friend treat him with the same respect?

Craig frowned and decided to mention it to Clyde that night at Harbucks. Maybe Clyde hated confrontation, but Craig was more afraid of them getting into a fight over something stupid. And anything that involved Cartman at all was completely and totally stupid.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Token said. Craig blinked.

"Wh- what do you mean, _again?_" he asked defensively. So he _did_ spend a good deal of his time thinking about Clyde – but was that bad? They were best friends, after all; it was justifiable. And was it really that obvious, anyway? Or was Token just a good observer?

"You have to stop letting him bother you like that. He's just looking for attention, always has been." Token leaned forward and reached into the car's shiny black mini-fridge, pulling out two grape-flavored vitamin waters and tossing one to Craig.

_Oh. Cartman. Right._ Craig felt stupid, and he was glad he wasn't a blusher. "Um, yeah, I guess. I dunno." He screwed off the top of the drink and took a sip; it tasted more like water than grape. He wished people would realize that water was water and grape juice was grape juice.

"Anyway, you don't technically have to have him in your group," Token continued. "Just tell Olsson that he's a slacker; it's not a lie or anything. He'll drop him from the class like that."

"That's not going to work," Craig moaned. "Olsson said groups are final. And besides, we _need_ him to act. Everyone else is part of a group."

"Why don't you act?"

Craig nearly spit out his water. _Act?! __I can't act as Clyde's- no! _"I- I want to film," he said lamely, wiping faint purple dribble from his bottom lip. Token raised his eyebrows and took another slow sip of his own vitamin water. "You know. I can't act for shit, anyway."

"And Cartman can?"

"Better than me." Craig sighed. "Listen, I just think that if we absolutely have to work with him anyway, it's for the best that he's the actor. Y'know, 'cause I'm the one who actually cares about moviemaking." Token was one of the only people who knew about his hobby, that Craig wasn't just taking the class to fulfill his arts requirement like most of the other kids.

"Whatever you say," Token shrugged. "Maybe he'll chill when he realizes how serious you are about this whole thing."

_If he realizes how serious I am about this, he'll just have more of an excuse to call me gay_. "Maybe." He capped the water and tossed it on the seat. Token looked pained for a split second, but nothing spilled out; he resumed his usual serene expression and continued to sip his own drink daintily.

The conversation was over.

--

Token's bedroom was all glossy black and white and silver, so shiny that Clyde liked to refer to it as the Chrome Dome. They didn't spend a lot of time in it as a group, though, because it scared Tweek to see his reflection staring back at him from forty different angles and Clyde just didn't like mirrors to begin with. Luckily, there were about twenty-two other rooms in Token's house – all considerably less reflecting – so they hung out more often in one of those.

Craig, however, didn't really have a problem with Token's bedroom, other than it being a little blinding at times, so the two boys grabbed a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies from the kitchen counter and headed up to the Chrome Dome in their socks. Craig noted bitterly that Token's socks were new, clean white with black tips, while his own were ratty gray and exposed three of his toes to the cool tile.

"What homework d'you have?" Token asked, pushing open the door to his room with one foot. "Bio?"

"Did it in class," Craig muttered, not wanting to admit that he'd left his Bio notebook at school. Oh well, he'd do it in the morning. "I've got Film stuff."

"Ah, yeah, you've gotta do your storyboard, right?" Token set the plate of cookies on a shimmery black coffee table and shrugged his backpack onto the floor. "Stan says he's got ours done already, so I don't have to worry." He frowned. "_Should_ I be worried?"

Craig laughed. "It's Stan. He knows what he's doing. Isn't his dad, like, a professional videographer or something?"

"Stan's dad? He's a geologist." Token said through a bite of cookie. "Mmmph."

When Clyde tried to talk with his mouth full – which was a lot of the time – crumbs were sprayed everywhere. Token, on the other hand, was a perfectly neat eater.

Craig pulled out his Film notebook and rifled through the pages to the one sloppily titled _Storyboard_. It was a mess. He'd started out with a simple enough plot – Boy A and Boy B are best friends, Boy A falls in love with Boy B, Boy A declares his love, Boy B realizes his feelings for Boy A, both live happily ever after. "But that's _gay,_" Cartman had said, and Clyde hadn't dissented, so Craig had scratched out the whole page and was now going to have to start from square one.

He drew a square in the upper left-hand corner and labeled it _1._

Next to him, Token dropped his Bio textbook onto the coffee table – _thunk_ – and opened it to a perfectly Post-It'd page. Where Craig had scribbled in an answer in Sharpie in his own book, Token had written a short sentence on one of the several sticky notes. Craig kind of wanted to kick him for being so damn organized, but then he realized that an injured Token would be less inclined to share the notes on test day. Back to the drawing board.

_So Boy A – that's Clyde – he's in love with Boy B. Cartman. _Craig frowned. _And Boy B is straight, okay. But they're best friends, and Boy A doesn't want his feelings to ruin their friendship. So he… tries to forget about it. Right. And everyone thinks he's straight, and he tells himself he is, and everything's cool. But then… then, uh… he gets drunk and confesses his love for Boy B and Boy B likes him back and they get together? _No. _He moves away and never worries about it again? _Lame. _He… _Craig doodled two tiny stick figures holding hands and a big ugly fat one drowning in a poorly-drawn lake. _He… _

Oh, fuck it. Craig slammed the pencil down onto the notebook and scowled at himself in the mirrored wall, flipping himself off for good measure. Token noticed but didn't comment.

Usually, coming up with a plot wasn't this hard at all. In fact, Craig seemed to have a talent for it. But this time… he supposed it was Cartman, Cartman was the one screwing everything up. He couldn't write Boy B the way he wanted to, because _Cartman_ would inevitably twist and bend and mutilate the character beyond recognition. And everything would be _ruined_.

--

Four and a half hours, three cookies, and seven wasted sheets of notebook paper later, Craig and Token clambered into the Black's backseat. Well, Craig clambered; Token executed more of a graceful slide, but either way they were buckled and ready and off to Harbucks to meet up with the group.

"We're going to be, like, fifteen minutes early," Craig said, picking at a spot of dried mud on his old green Converses. He didn't like getting places early. It was uncomfortable.

"That's fine," said Token. "Better than being late."

"I guess so."

Token shifted in his seat and touched Craig's shoulder. "Listen, man, you've gotta stop this worrying. It's not like you."

Craig squirmed. "I'm not- worrying. I'm just pissed off." He tried to pull his shoulder away as subtly as possible, but Token didn't seem to get the message. "You know, Cartman has that effect on people."

"Hah." Token squeezed once and then placed his hand back in his own lap, but Craig's mind was already off and running again. What had Token meant by that? His hand… the spot still felt a little warm. What was he doing? And the squeeze, what was that for? And was it just Craig's imagination, or… was the whole thing a little… gay?

_Gay._

_Goddamn it, Craig, _he told himself, his middle finger shooting up reflexively. One little touch. That was it! People touched each other like that all the time, boys and boys and girls and girls and boys and girls and everyone and Garrison, it wasn't weird. It wasn't abnormal, it wasn't anything more than a touch, and it wasn't gay at all.

So then why was Craig shivering like a South Parkian who was actually using the air conditioning?

He kicked the car's AC vent just in case, but all that got him was a strange look from Token and a grunt from Token's driver. _That boy and his anger issues_, the man was probably thinking. That was him, Craig Tucker, the sullen welfare kid with the scruffy clothes and permanent scowl. He felt a sudden, intense hatred for Token's driver, even though the man hadn't said a word.

And then, as if reading Craig's thoughts, Token cut in. "C'mon, snap out of it. Have fun tonight." He straightened his purple sweater. "You've got money for coffee?"

"Actually, I do," Craig grinned, reaching into his own jacket pocket and brandishing a Harbucks gift card. "Courtesy of Tweek."

"Occasion?"

"Pip's birthday." Token looked puzzled for a moment, and then they both laughed.

"That's Tweek, huh?"

"Yep."

It was funny, how with Token the mood always stayed so constant. Quiet, somber, serious, changing ever-so-slightly when one of them cracked a joke, but always reverting to the norm. But with Clyde, there was no norm – just happy-sad-serene-angry-goofy-scared-unpredictable; Craig liked it better that way. He wouldn't have admitted it to Token – well, maybe if you paid him – but he couldn't have been more relieved when the car pulled up to the curb outside Harbucks and that asshole of a driver let them out and there was Tweek waiting inside the coffee shop, fifteen minutes early as well.

"Gah! Y-you came together!"

"We did," Token affirmed, letting the door swing shut behind them. It was warm inside, but in South Park, heat was relative, so hats and sweaters and scarves stayed on. "When'd you get here?"

"I came r-right after school!" Tweek yelled, then clamped his hands over his mouth. "I mean I came right after – nnh – school," he repeated quietly, shaking slightly.

Token nodded. Craig didn't. "Where's Clyde?"

"He's not here yet! OhmyGodwhatifhegotrapedorrunoveror-"

"Or brutally stoned with marshmallows?" Token suggested. Tweek's eyes flashed.

"Jesus-"

"Dude, shut _up,_" Craig said, grabbing Tweek's bony wrist. "Clyde's fine."

"Are- are you sure?" Tweek asked, eyes darting from Token to Craig and back again.

"Yes, I'm-" Craig began, but he was cut off by the soft tinkle of the front-door chime. Clyde burst into the coffee shop, cheeks red from the biting cold and scarf drenched in snow.

"I'm here, sorry, I got caught up-" The brunet paused to catch his breath. "I, I went over to Shakey's a few hours ago to get the math homework from Jimmy, and I ran into Cartman, so we grabbed some pizza, and time just flew, y'know?" He panted and shoved a lone piece of hair off his forehead. "Just, yeah, I'm here. Hey."

Craig felt the sudden, horrible urge to be an asshole.

"God, I hope you didn't have to pay," he laughed. Token sent him a warning glance – _don't – _but he couldn't help it, the words were pressing against his mouth like water against a dam. "The way the two of you eat, I doubt even Token here could cough up the cash."

Clyde flushed and looked down.

Silence.

"Uh, should we just go order, then?" Token said slowly. "I've got to finish up the Bio homework, so I can't be stuck here all night."

"Yeah, let's- ngh- let's order," Tweek said, taking a step towards the counter. "I need caffeine, I'm so tired-"

"I'm sure you had some before we got here," Craig grinned. Tweek shrugged.

"Like, half an hour ago!" He twitched. "It's wearing off al-already, I can feel it!"

They laughed. Token's laugh was deep, rough, and Tweek's was the exact opposite – short, high-pitched bursts – but Clyde's giggle was bright and refreshing, and all of Craig's anger melted away. Cartman was gone, erased from his thoughts, and it was just him and Clyde and their friends, together right then and there.

It was funny how certain things affected him more than others.

They stepped up to the counter, took in the pungent smell of coffee and the sweet scent of sugar, and let Tweek ring the little bell over and over and over again until the woman behind them coughed forcefully. Craig fingered the gift card in his pocket, resisting the impulse to flip her off. Instead, he focused his attention on the counter, where the manager had just stepped up to take their orders.

"What can I get for you boys?" Tweek's dad said pleasantly, his hands filling and shaking and capping the coffees at sixty miles an hour. "Oh, wait, don't tell me, I've got this, I've got this. Mild roast, three extra shots of espresso, that's my boy," he grinned, handing a steaming cup to Tweek. "And Token, caramel macchiato, here you go, not too much caramel, I know. My man Craig… iced mocha, small?"

"Make it a medium," Craig said, waving his card in Mr. Tweak's face. Not all the coffee in the store could beat the incredible rush of adrenaline the thin piece of plastic offered him; he wondered why Token wasn't constantly ecstatic.

"Coming right up!" Tweek's dad spun around, worked his magic, and within seconds, Craig's drink was cradled in his hands, his prize. "And Clyde. Best drink in the house – hot cocoa with whipped cream and extra choc-"

"N-no," stammered Clyde. Mr. Tweak stopped, the whipped cream can poised in the air. "I'll have, um…" He looked up at the menu. "Some… green tea?"

"Green tea? You sure?"

"Yeah." Clyde blinked. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Ah, it's never a bad time to try something new!" Clyde nodded and took the drink carefully, holding it without taking a sip.

They paid up, Craig's card gleaming under the dim lights, then made their way over to their favorite table in the corner, the one with the squishy armchairs. Tweek, who had downed about three-quarters of his drink already, bounced up and down in his seat.

"This is- so good- gah-" He brought the straw back to his lips. It twitched against his mouth before his teeth snatched it up. Craig smiled.

"You're amusing, you know that?" He swirled his own straw around the cup and took a sip, savoring the cool, bittersweet flash of flavor. Perfect.

"How's that tea, Clyde?" Token asked, setting his drink down.

Clyde made a face. The others laughed again.

"Oh, come on, you don't like it?" Token shook his head. "We drink it a lot at home. My parents are tea people."

"M-mine are coffee people!" added Tweek, finishing his coffee and slamming it onto the table.

"I dunno, I think it's kinda gross," Clyde said, ignoring the blonde's outburst. "There's no flavor, it's all water!"

"Suit yourself," said Token, "but that's tea for you."

"I know, I didn't realize that!" Clyde whined. "And now I'm _thirsty_." He pushed the cup away, towards the middle of the table, and bit his lip, looking (as he often did) like he was about to cry.

Token was Craig's friend, Tweek was Craig's friend, but Clyde was his _best_ friend, and there was really only one obvious thing to do.

"Have mine, then," he muttered, shoving his treat, his trophy, five dollars' worth of delicious, barely-touched medium iced mocha at Clyde. "I don't want it anyway." He scowled, trying to forget the feel of the cool plastic card in his palm.

"I don't like coffee," Clyde reminded him.

"You can barely taste it. It tastes mostly like chocolate."

Clyde shrugged and raised the cup to his mouth. His lips opened slowly – Craig got a glimpse of straight, slightly dull white teeth before realizing he was _staring_ at Clyde's mouth – and closed again, taking a long, slow sip.

"I like it." He smiled, showing his teeth again. "You're right, it kinda tastes like a chocolate shake."

"Yeah," said Craig, even though he hated chocolate shakes. "It does."

"You want my drink, then?" Clyde motioned to the abandoned green tea. "It's really not that bad-"

"No thanks."

Craig leaned back in his chair and watched Clyde drink. His eyes were closed like he hadn't had anything to drink in ages, or maybe it was just the chocolate, or maybe - maybe hanging out with Cartman at Shakey's had been horribly boring, and Clyde would much rather be sitting under the comfy glow of the Harbucks lights, sipping mocha with his best friend. Whatever the cause, though, he seemed so happy, content, almost carefree.

If only Craig could say the same for himself.


End file.
